Nightmares
by RinoaTifa
Summary: KotORII. Something strange is happening within the Ebon Hawk, invading the very dreams of those onboard. Final chapter now added.
1. Part One: Fallen

**Nightmares**

**Author's Note:** So, I've noticed in the various bits and pieces I've been doing recently this motif keeps appearing to do with sleeping and dreaming. It wasn't an intentional thing – it just kind of keeps happening so I thought hey, why not see what happens when I try writing something about nothing but dreams? This is a very different style of writing to what I normally do and so I have no idea if it's going to be any good – I just felt like experimenting a little. Some of the dream sequences are fairly literal, others more symbolic, others just plain surreal, and all of them have ambiguous aspects that are open to interpretation. Lots of feedback would be appreciated but please keep in mind that the characters may not always sound like themselves, simply because it is often the nature of dreams that people we know and even ourselves behave in ways that we wouldn't normally expect, though if I've done this right some aspect of them should always be identifiable.

**Part One: Fallen**

She was stood in the middle of a playground on a planet whose name she couldn't remember at a time of day she couldn't possibly describe.

'I wanna go play on the swings! Can I go play on the swings?' Mira was asking, hopping from foot to foot in anticipation.

She nodded. 'Alright. Just be careful, okay?'

With a whoop of delight Mira went racing off and she was left to survey the rest of her surroundings. Atton and the Disciple were already on the swings, competing to see who could get the highest. Bao-Dur was in the sandbox, building a complex and intricate structure out of the sand with the help of his trusty Remote. Visas and Mandalore were climbing a rock wall, but something was wrong. No matter how hard she tried to cling to the rock face, Visas seemed unable to get more than a few inches off the ground before falling back down.

'Excuse me.'

Looking down, she saw that the person addressing her was a little girl, no older than twelve, with a mop of messy curls and a mischievous smile. The girl held one clenched fist out to her, and instinctively she placed her palm underneath. She felt the weight of two objects dropping into her waiting hand, and found two milky white pearls now resting in her cupped palm.

'Keep those close to you all the time but never turn your back on them,' the little girl advised seriously before turning and scampering off across the playground.

'Wait!' she called after her but the little girl didn't stop, crawling through an orange play tunnel. She ran after her, past the Mass Shadow Generator Bao-Dur had constructed out of the sand, past a now weeping Visas who was sat in the dirt as Mandalore cheered triumphantly from the top of the wall, past a happily swinging Mira and now openly brawling Atton and Mical, past the edge of the play area to greet the yawning maw of the tunnel opening.

The opening couldn't have been more than two feet high and so she had to get on her hands and knees to get inside it, crawling through the tunnel entrance, dragging herself along further... and further... and further... _I don't understand,_ she thought desperately, still wriggling her way through, _It didn't look this long from the outside_.

Something appeared up ahead and she moved faster, hoping she'd finally reach the end of the tunnel, but on approach found it to be nothing more than a particularly large gizka in a bow tie and top hat. It was crouched in the centre of the tunnel, almost as though it had been waiting for her. She sighed disappointedly. 'Excuse me, have you seen a little girl come through here? She's me. Well, she's not really me. She's me when I was little. Except I'm not little anymore so I suppose she isn't really me...'

The gizka croaked regretfully. 'I'm afraid not, dear girl.'

'Oh.' She sighed again. 'Well, do you at least know how much further this tunnel goes?'

'Of course! The exit is just ahead of you. But remember, the important thing is that you cut the puppet master's strings.'

She looked at the little creature in confusion. 'I don't follow.'

'No, they follow you. Good luck!' it chirruped cheerfully before hopping past her and back down the tunnel the way she'd come.

Sure enough, the exit was only a little further on, and she clambered out gratefully to find that she was no longer on the planet with no name. Instead, she was in what she knew to be a classroom, even though it was unlike any classroom she'd ever seen. The walls were whitewashed and the floor a hard, cold material that made her feet tingle. It smelt like dead flowers. In the centre of the room was a single round glass table, around which three men were sat, all scribbling furiously on scraps of paper. Circling the table was a tall figure dressed entirely in black with a mask obscuring their features.

'No no no, that's wrong!' Malak exclaimed, jabbing furiously as Nihilus' paper. 'Hunger only has one u, not two! How can we ever possibly hope to take over the galaxy when we can't even get the basics right?'

She approached the table slowly, thinking that she knew the third person sat there but unable to quite place him. Sensing her approach, he looked up from his work, warm green eyes and handsome features greeting her.

'Who were you?' she found herself asking quietly. 'Before the change happened?'

The man smiled at her, and as he did his features began to crack and distort. His skin turned from a healthy gold to lifeless grey, the eyes turned dead and lifeless, one becoming as milky white as the pearls she still clasped in one hand. Deep scars erupted across his face and body and his smile became a grimace. He tilted his head to one side, flesh flaking off with the motion. 'There is not a soul alive who knows.'

'I've got it!' screeched Revan suddenly, slamming her hands down on the table. 'The pinnacle of how we shall defeat the Mandalorians and eradicate all life in the universe: hydrospanners that can _think!'_

Appreciative murmurs greeted this announcement from around the table, growing in volume and intensity as though more and more voices were being added to the mix. Somewhere, a siren began to scream. Clamping her hands over her ears, she turned, suddenly gripped with the desire to get away from this place, when she felt someone grab her elbow hard.

'It's time,' said Master Kavar, pulling her through a door she hadn't seen before. The corridor they were in was familiar and she recognised the place it belonged to at once – the Jedi Academy on Dantooine, but not as it was now. It had been restored somehow, with not the slightest sign of the Sith attack present on its gleaming stonework or on the other Jedis's smiling faces. The siren continued to blare and as Kavar marched her down the corridor the other Jedi became aware of the sound. Some huddled together in clusters, others pulled out their lightsabers, while others still panicked and ran back down the corridor.

'Wait,' she tried to call after them but her voice came out as a whisper. 'That's not the way!'

They reached an intersection and Kavar led her left, down another, identical corridor. She didn't want to go with him but his hand was still firmly clasped around her elbow and she knew that not even death would make him let go. 'Where are we going?'

'It's time for your final test.'

'Test?' She felt panic rise up in her. 'What test?'

'To see whether or not you're a real Jedi, of course,' replied Kavar, in a tone one would usually use when addressing a particularly difficult and stupid five year old. 'Now stop struggling or we'll have to cut you off from the Force again.'

'But – but it wasn't the Council who cut me off from the Force, it was—' she protested but stopped, realising that she could no longer remember how she had lost her connection with the Force. The corridor stretched on and on and the sound of the siren was getting louder, repetitive and incessant. 'Please, I was looking for something... someone... I can't remember who. I think I was looking for my friends.'

'Friends?' Master Kavar stopped suddenly, bringing her to a jarring halt. 'A Jedi does not have friends! A Jedi must walk alone. No emotional attachments. If you want to become a true Jedi again, we'd better get rid of this,' he stated in a matter of fact manner, reaching out and yanking her heart out from her chest. She yelped in pain and fell to her knees. Whimpering, her fingers grasped at the wound while her eyes stared helplessly at the big empty space where her heart had been.

'There. That wasn't so bad now, was it?'

Looking up, she saw that the unending corridor had been replaced with the Council's chamber. The sound of the siren had stopped, replaced with a deathly and oppressive quiet. The three Jedi Masters whom she had gathered were sat in the same seats they had occupied during her trial. From the remaining chairs, white skeletons grinned at her and threw accusing glances with unseeing sockets. 'You can't so this!' she cried out, still clutching at her chest. 'I can't leave my friends – they need me!'

'Are you quite certain of that?' asked Master Vrook. He glanced behind the Council's seats to where a viewing arena had been set up.

Assembled in the seating stands were her companions, each watching the scene unfold with a kind of bored apathy. As she stared at them in disbelief, Mira reached into her jacket and pulled out what appeared to be a packet of popcorn before passing it round the others. Visas whispered something to Mical and he laughed coldly.

'Give us the pearls, exile,' demanded Master Zez-Kai Ell holding out his hand.

'NO!' she screamed, feeling with an absolute iron certainty that no matter what the Jedi Masters did, she could never give up the only things to have stood by her this far. 'No, I have to keep them close! I –' She stopped; the cold, comforting weight in her palm was gone. Panicked, she began to search her body, desperately looking for the two tiny pearls. 'I can't – where are they? Why would they leave me? I – I don't understand...'

'Exile, you fail the test. You know what that means,' intoned Master Kavar. He still held her red, pulsating heart in one hand and with the other he reached over to a lever positioned to the right of his chair and yanked it hard. 'Goodbye.'

She only caught one last glance of the impassive faces of her comrades before the ground opened up beneath her and she was falling, plummeting. With a cry, she scrabbled at the rock face, managing somehow to find a handhold and clung to it desperately. 'Help me!' she screamed. 'Somebody, please, save me!'

A hand appeared over the side of the chasm, reaching out to her and she grabbed it. 'I've got you, babe,' Atton said and she almost sobbed with relief.

But it wasn't enough. She was slipping. Still falling downwards, but slower now, her speed of descent slowed by her anchor but not stopped. 'Please, Atton! Please don't let me fall!'

'I'm sorry, exile,' he said and she looked up to see that Atton did not look like Atton anymore. His skin was grey and sickly, his features twisted and cruel, and his eyes a hollow, hateful yellow. Even as her eyes widened in disbelief, he began to loosen his grip. 'I could never save you.'

He let go and she fell, further and further, deeper and deeper, through every world whose surface she had ever wandered, past countless landscapes and through a million skies – 'I make a wish I don't fall, I make a wish I don't fall, I make a wish I don't fall' - until finally she hit the bottom with a sickening crack. She couldn't move. Even breathing was an effort. There seemed no point in trying to get up, anyway. She'd fallen far too far for anyone to reach her now. So there she lay, broken and useless. Just another fallen Jedi...

Back in her bunk on the Ebon Hawk, Lexie Sunsoft – the exile - let out a soft moan in her sleep.


	2. Part Two: Darkness

**Part Two: Darkness**

'It's getting dark outside,' Lexie murmured.

He held her close to his chest, glancing over her head at the viewing screen of the Ebon Hawk. A million stars acted as their own ethereal light source, seeming to be slowly moving towards him as the ship hurtled through space. Every now and then a light seemed to blink out of existence while others still appeared to take their place. It all seemed so very fleeting to him. 'It's always dark.'

Lexie sat up, fixing him with a serious look before saying, 'We're going to have to go soon.'

He swallowed, suddenly afraid. 'I don't want to go. We're safe here but not out there.'

She smiled and kissed him gently before rising from the pilot's chair which they'd both been curled up on. Her body glistened in the starlight, and it seemed to him as though words of silver were etched onto her skin but for some reason he couldn't read them. 'I've got a surprise for you,' Lexie told him in a teasing tone.

As he watched, the exile stretched her arms behind her head and pulled at something hidden in her hair. Like a boma shedding its coat for the new season, Lexie pulled off her skin, revealing underneath a mass of wiring and circuitry. 'Ta da!' exclaimed the new, android version of Lexie, striking a pose. 'Now let's go and save the galaxy!'

'Don't you just hate machines telling you what to do?' asked a voice. He spun round in his chair to see a large gizka wearing a bow tie and top hat sat on the navicomputer panel.

His brow knitted in disbelief. 'Gizka don't talk.'

'Why, of course we don't. We have the good sense to know that no one listens,' said the gizka sagely before cooing in a self-satisfied manner.

'Okay, that's it,' he sighed, rubbing his eyes. 'I'm waking up. This dream started out good but I'm pretty sure that from now on only wackiness will ensue, and I'm really not in the mood, so if you'll excuse me-'

An incessant tapping caught his attention, and he turned to look at the viewing screen once more. Two tiny fireflies, looking like little more than milky white, round orbs, were outside, trying to force their way into the cockpit by hurling their frames at the plexiglass again and again. His eyes narrowed; this was impossible. Nothing could be alive in space. The pounding was becoming louder and to his horror he saw a crack begin to appear across the surface of the screen that separated the cockpit from the depths of space.

'No!' he cried out but it was too late. The crack grew, spreading like tendrils across the surface of the plexiglass, splintering it into a million shards. And then, it shattered.

'NO!' The cold emptiness of space rushed in, sucking greedily at his form with an irresistible force. He clung to the headrest of his chair, the rest of his body lifting off the cockpit floor as the vacuum threatened to swallow him whole. 'I can't go out there! I'm afraid of the dark!'

The android exile, apparently unaffected by the pull that threatened to drag him out into the great beyond, stared at him with empty eyes. 'But Jaq, you are the dark.'

'That's what I meant,' he whispered, even as his fingers lost their slender grip on his seat and he was dragged forcefully out of the viewscreen. Blackness surrounded him, impenetrable and absolute. He wanted to scream but the darkness seemed to have found a way to crawl into his throat, clogging it up so that no sound could escape. He couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything, couldn't tell where the darkness finished and he began, or even if he did still have a form.

And then a light. It was faint and far away, flickering occasionally like a candle in the breeze, like the stars that had been blinking in and out of existence, like the little fireflies that had been bearing their light even when faced with the depths of space itself, erratic, but it was definitely there. And another. Another still. More and more were appearing and slowly getting closer to him. The first light he'd seen was close enough now that he could make out more than a hazy outline and he realised that it was not a lamp or a star or a firefly, as he'd expected. No, looming out of the darkness towards him was a pale, ghostly face. All the time more of these faces were appearing, encircling him, and he realised now that they weren't looking for him but closing in on him. They weren't coming to save him but to punish him.

One by one they came into view, all the Jedi he had ever hurt, ever broken, ever killed. Most of their faces he'd long forgotten but somehow he recognised every single one as they encircled him, fixing him with the same cold, dispassionate gaze in each of their eyes.

Then, as if compelled by some unspoken directive, as one they pounced on him, pulling, clawing, tearing...

Atton Rand thrashed about in his sleep, trying so hard to evade those ghostly hands.


	3. Part Three: Hunted

**Part Three: Hunted**

She was running, ploughing through the undergrowth with the ferocity and speed of a wild animal. She was tracking, anticipating every turn and matching it, like the leader in a beautiful but deadly dance. She was chasing, a predator moving in on its prey.

She was naked. For most people, the idea of being naked was terrifying, a source of embarrassment and anxiety. Not for her. To be naked was to be free and that was what she was. Clothes were like masks – they acted as a facade and only showed people what you wanted them to see. But she had nothing to hide. She didn't need the trappings of a bounty hunter; she simply was one.

Running, tracking, chasing... This was her life. Running, tracking, chasing... This was what she was good at. Running, tracking chasing... And this was what she loved more than anything else.

But wait – the scent – gone! But that was impossible. It had been so strong just a moment ago. She sniffed the air, listened to the chatter of wildlife, felt the motion of the trees that surrounded her on all sides. Nothing. Growling with frustration, she crouched down low, scrabbling at the earth for clues. All she found were two eyeballs, milky white, probably the remains of some poor creature. No, it wasn't a poor creature. It had allowed itself to change from predator to prey. That didn't make it something to be pitied. That made it weak.

A tingling sensation at the back of her neck. Such a small thing, but to her it represented volumes. She spun round, staying low, hunting for whatever it was that had now decided to hunt her. A rustle in the brush behind her. In one fluid motion, she pivoted round, wrist-launcher locked—

'It's not polite to point, my dear,' the gizka told her.

She snarled softly, scanning the area once more, but she did lower the wrist-launcher. She still couldn't see anything but the feeling... the feeling was growing. Someone – or something – was watching her. 'There's something following me.'

'Isn't there always?' responded the gizka, hopping a little closer to her.

She shifted her weight, rocking back on the balls of her feet, ready to spring, ready to fight the second her assailant showed themselves. 'Why me?'

'Maybe it's because you're not what you say you are.'

'What are you talking about? You can see what I am. I'm a hunter!'

If gizka had eyebrows to raise, the little creature would most certainly have raised its by a couple of inches. Instead, it simply twirled its bow tie in disbelief. 'Call a plasma torch a hydrospanner for long enough and people forget what the words really mean. But their nature – what they truly are – that is something that will never be altered.'

'What do you know about it anyway?' she snapped in an angry hiss. 'You don't know me. You don't know what I—'

A branch snapped. Quicker than thought, she had tucked herself into a roll, narrowly avoiding the arrow that went sailing past her ear. Without pause, she snapped her arm into position and fired. A whimper. The creature fell. She was by its side in a heartbeat, weapon pressed to the beast's head. No need. It was already dead. The thrill of the kill sang in her veins and her fingers stroked the wound she had inflicted in the creature's chest, almost lovingly. The blood covered her fingertips, warm and sticky and still brimming with life. Without quite knowing why, she smeared the blood across her face, laughing triumphantly.

'You see! You see what I am!'

'Yes, I see,' the gizka said quietly. Somehow it had snuck round her during the commotion and was now sat beside the body, looking down at it with huge eyes. 'Good job, old sport.'

She looked at her kill again and gasped. The cold, dead, empty eyes of a young girl stared back at her, belonging to a child no older than ten, her flame-red hair matted with dirt. An expression of surprise remained on the little girl's face, words of shock still lingering on her lips. 'No! No, I didn't mean to—' She turned back to the gizka imploringly, but the little creature was gone. Panic flaring up in her chest, she clawed at the wound again but this time she did not revel in the blood, this time she tried to stem it, tried to force it back in--

Wait. There it was again. The scent. The hunt was back on.

One last look at the corpse that she knew so well, and then she was off. Running, tracking, chasing... This was what it was about, what it had always been about, nothing more. Running, tracking, chasing... No time to dwell on anything else. Running, tracking, chasing... No time to think about anything apart from the hunt.

Whatever it was that she was pursuing, it knew she was coming. It was quick, too, but clumsy and panicked. The destruction it left in its wake as it stumbled through the terrain was infinitely easy to follow. Not only that, but it was predictable. Before long, she had the creature right where she wanted it, pausing for breath in a glade.

Silent as a shadow, she crept forward, weapon raised. She could already taste the kill in the air, the metallic touch of death dancing on her tongue. Just a few more steps... The beast knew she was there but it didn't matter, it was too late for it to do anything... It turned to face her and...

'No!' She froze, a mynock in the headlamps of a swoop. 'You're dead!'

Hanharr laughed and advanced on her, twin vibroblades raised, ready to strike and she realised that it hadn't been another's death that she'd felt approaching but her own. Panicked, unable to think, unable to act, she tried to run but tripped on the undergrowth. Moaning fearfully, she scrambled through the dirt, desperately seeking for some form of escape. This whole time, she'd thought she'd been the one in control, that she'd been the predator. Only now could she see how wrong she'd been.

The Wookie's foot slammed down on her crawling leg and she howled in agony as the bone shattered. Mindless fear paralysing her, she could do nothing but lie there, waiting for the blow to come.

'The huntress is dead,' intoned Hanharr, raising his vibroblades high above his head. 'Long live the hunter!'

Mira panted with panic, twisting the bed sheet round and round in her anxious fingers as she fought to escape the dream.


	4. Part Four: Searching

**Part Four: Searching**

He was working on the General's swoop bike. Nothing particularly fancy, just some routine maintenance. It was only when he reached for the hydrospanner that he realised something was different. He turned around, surveying the empty garage. Nothing was where it shouldn't be. Nothing was following him. Nothing was missing—

Wait. Where was his Remote? He had grown so accustomed to the chirruping little sphere's omnipresence that he didn't know why it had taken him so long to realise it was gone.

'Remote?' he called out. No response. No longer able to ignore his little droid's absence now that it had been identified, he decided to search for it.

'Remote!' he cried out again as he passed through the hallway. A series of beeps and whirrs caught his attention and with a sigh of relief he stepped into the engine room.

But the Remote wasn't there. Instead, he was met with the sight of HK-47 and G0-T0 constructing soft pink, cuddly gizka toys as T3-M4 circled them, supervising. Already a pile of at least twenty was stacked on and around the hyperdrive, almost completely obscuring it from view. 'What are you doing?'

'Disbelieving response: Is it not obvious what we are doing Master?' asked HK-47 in incredulous tones. One metal hand waved the half-made toy that the droid was currently working on at him. 'We are sewing together pieces of material in order to create soft toys to bring joy and comfort to young children across the galaxy. Because as you know, Master, children are the future.'

T3-M4, clearly finding HK's unannounced work break unacceptable, let out an angry whoop and shocked the assassin droid with a bolt of electricity. HK-47 began to sew again, at a speed that an organic creature would have found impossible, and spoke again in a repentant tone. 'Guilty apology: I am sorry, Master. I should not be distracting you before your big performance.'

'Have you seen my Remote anywhere?'

'Your little droid is no longer with us,' G0-T0 responded ominously, as two of his pincer-like extensions tied a pretty satin bow around a finished gizka's neck. 'He left the engine room a few moments ago. Apparently he doesn't see the importance of toy gizka in ensuring the stabalisation of the galaxy.'

Nodding, he turned to leave, just catching HK-47 adding, 'Mocking response: what a foolish little droid that remote must be!' before he was back in the hall, trying to decide where to try next. The last time he remembered seeing his Remote was back in his bunk, and so he headed towards the dormitories. As he approached, the sound of soft singing became evident and he recognised the tune as an old song that had been popular among the Republican soldiers back during the Mandalorian Wars but he couldn't understand the words...

'General?' he asked, finally able to place the voice.

'In heeerrreee!' trilled a female voice. He pressed the release on the door to find Lexie in the bathtub but it wasn't water she was bathing in. No, the substance was thicker than that, red and sticky, dense enough to obscure her entire body from the neck down.

'I'm – I'm looking for my Remote. Have you seen it?'

'Can't say I have,' said the General, lying back further in the tub so that her dark hair spread out, fan-like, in the red liquid. 'But he may be rehearsing with the others in the cargo hold.'

'Thank you General.' He made to leave but heard her call, 'Just make sure you're back in time for the grand finale!' before a small plop told him that Lexie had just submerged herself completely in her bath of blood.

Sparks were flying from the walls as he made his way back through the ship. _I should really do something about that,_ he thought, then remembered he needed to find his Remote first if he hoped to get anything done at all. What appeared to be a large white sheet had been stuck over the entrance of the cargo hold, almost like a curtain, and when he pushed it aside it was to find the area bustling with activity.

'NO!' Mandalore was roaring from the far left corner. Five members of his clan were stood before him in a line, dressed in full battle gear, but looking decidedly glum as their leader continued to chastise them. 'How many times do I have to tell you?! It's step, pivot, tap, step, pirouette and _then_ you do the jazz hands! Now do the whole routine again, from the top!'

'Yes, Mandalore!' chorused the assembled warriors before breaking into a surprisingly graceful dance routine.

'Ah, here he is, the star of the show!' From out of the shadows, Atton appeared, throwing an arm around his shoulders. A beret was perched on the scoundrel's head at a rakish angle and he carried a clipboard in one hand. 'Now, you know that you're on last, right? The big ending! Very exciting stuff. You know what you're doing, of course?'

Before he had a chance to respond, Atton was bustling off. 'Grreeaaattt. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go see Visas – poor dear has terrible stage fright.'

Sure enough, Visas was stood trembling in the middle of the cargo hold, frozen in the process of rehearsing what looked like a stand-up comedy act involving several live cannocks. In the little space that remained, Mira and Mical were conversing emphatically, a plasteel cylinder sat between them, and he approached them, hoping that maybe he'd finally find someone else who didn't know what this performance was all about. They stopped speaking as soon as they caught sight of him.

'Atton's given me twelve different parts you know,' the Disciple announced smugly. Not waiting for a response, Mical pulled a box from inside the plasteel cylinder and began rifling through it. 'Look, I have a different hat for each one. You see, this one is black and pointy so that's my spy hat... I wear this one when I'm being a cowboy...'

'Good to see you're already in costume too,' Mira chimed in. She was wearing a black mini-dress and fluorescent pink wig, but still had her wrist launcher firmly in place. 'The outfit it perfect – no one will ever guess what you're about to do.'

His brow furrowed in confusion. 'But these are just my ordinary clothes.'

'Already in character too. Nice touch,' said Mira approvingly, winking at him.

'This is my gentleman hat... I find this balaclava very helpful with regards to portraying a criminal...'

'I nearly forgot, I found something of yours,' said Mira, rummaging in the plasteel cylinder that seemed to him to be able to hold an inordinate amount for such a very small container, before pulling something out with an accomplished 'ahh!' sound. 'You'll be needing this.'

Smiling proudly, Mira offered him his own severed arm. It was perfectly preserved, exactly how it had after what had happened at Malachor. One finger was still twitching and blood continued to seep from the end. It was still warm. 'Th-thank you,' he stammered, taking it from the bounty hunter. She winked at him again then turned her attention to the plasteel cylinder once more, pulling out long metal poles and planks of wood and, with Mical's help, began to construct a stage. Neither seemed aware that he was still stood there.

He backed away quickly, dropping his arm on the floor of the cargo hold. The severed limb landed with a squelch, writhing as though alive. It had occurred to him that something rather strange seemed to be happening on board the Ebon Hawk, something that went beyond his Remote going missing. Speaking of which, he was still no closer to finding out where his Remote had got to. He glanced across to where Atton was teaching Visas how to project from the diaphragm and was considering asking if they might know anything about his Remote when a small voice piped up from the floor beside him.

'I'd watch those two, if I were you,' advised the talking gizka, eyeing Atton and Visas warily. 'Jedi have a nasty habit of breeding like no-one's business. One moment there's just the one of them, the next they're everywhere. Do you see what I mean?' The gizka nodded to the far corner, where Mical and Mira had both drawn lightsabers – gold and pink respectively – and were having a mock duel. He looked down at his belt and was surprised to see his own lightsaber clipped to it. How had he not noticed it there earlier?

'Do you have any idea where my Remote might be?' he asked the gizka who he found himself instinctively trusting despite never actually encountering one that could speak before. Perhaps it was because this was the first creature not to mention some kind of imminent performance to him.

The gizka opened its mouth to speak but was interrupted by Atton's voice yelling from across the cargo hold. 'Mr Phipps! Get your little yellow butt hopping over here right this second or else I'm cutting you from the musical number!'

'I'll have his part!' squealed Mical, eyes lighting up with excitement.

'Not a chance,' Atton growled, pointing his clipboard at the Disciple threateningly. 'You're already having to use the sailor hat to represent two different characters! We just don't have enough hats!'

The gizka gave him an apologetic look and a rough approximation of a shrug. 'Sorry I can't help you look for your Remote, old chap.'

'It's no problem,' he replied reassuringly. 'You know how these things go anyway - it'll probably turn up in the last place I look for it.'

'Well then,' the gizka called back to him as it went bounding off across the cargo hold to where Atton and Mical appeared to be having a very heated dispute regarding the box of hats. 'Why don't you just look there first?'

Considering this for a second, he realised it probably made about as much sense as everything else that had been happening and decided he had nothing to lose by at least trying it Mr Phipps' way. Pushing the curtain aside again, he fought through a sea of gizka cuddly toys that now seemed to be filling most of the ship, through the back of a crate, up one flight of stairs, down another, under the floorboards, through the ventilation system, past two milky white balls that kept trying to bounce in his path, down a corridor made up of red velvet curtains until eventually...

'There you are!' he exclaimed, and his Remote gave a cheerful whoop of greeting, floating over to rejoin his side. He was about to ask where the little droid had been all this time when a huge yellow light flashed on, momentarily blinding him.

'And now,' boomed a disembodied voice. 'It's that time of the evening you have all been waiting for!'

A chorus of cheers rose up from the darkness and he squinted past the glare to see an audience was assembled, staring up at the raised platform on which he was stood. Staring at him. No, not just at him. At something behind him. He turned slowly to see that positioned behind him was a huge piece of machinery that was far too familiar.

'Yes folks, this is it, our grand finale!' the voice continued. 'This is the moment when the angry young Zabrak finally gets his revenge by using the Mass Shadow Generator!'

'No,' he breathed. 'No, not again. Please don't make me do it again.'

His eyes scanned the gathered crowd. There was Atton, scribbling frantically on his clipboard, Mical admiring his reflection while wearing his gentleman's hat, Mira giving him an encouraging grin, Mandalore and his assorted clan of dancers watching expectantly, a whole crowd of Republic soldiers willing him on with their eyes and there... There she was. The General. She must have come straight from her bath because her entire body was still coated in scarlet.

'Please don't make me do it,' he whispered, staring imploringly into the eyes of his commanding officer. There was no mercy there. Instead, she simply gave a small, tight nod.

Sighing, he turned and for the second time activated the Mass Shadow Generator.

'Noooo,' groaned Bao-Dur, writhing in his bunk.


	5. Part Five: Wanderer

**Part Five: Wanderer**

'_As my feet walk from the ashes of Katarr, I shall not fear…'_

A million million grains of sand pressed themselves against the soles of her feet then showered their way back to the desert floor as she walked. She could feel each one, brief but insistent, each grain unique.

She'd been here before.

'… _for in fear lies death…'_

The barren landscape stretched on for miles in all directions yet still she walked. She didn't know where she was going, except for away. Away from the shadow that pursued her. It was a terrible, quiet shadow and every now and then she could sense it behind her, flowing over the sand, scurrying behind stones. Somewhere, a crow cawed.

She stopped, and used her Sight to take in the majesty of the heavens above her. Two moons hung low in the sky, milky white orbs that almost seemed like eyes staring back at her. 'I know you,' she murmured to the unanswering night.

Then she was walking again because the shadow was approaching, and the shadow could not be permitted to catch up with her. Certainly, their paths would cross in time, she could see that was inevitable, but Force willing it would be at a time and place of her choosing. Because that was all there ever was really, wasn't there? Certain things in the galaxy, and indeed in life, will always be inevitable, and all sentients can ever really do is try and ensure that they happen at an agreeable moment.

So she walked, over dunes of sand, past fields of crows, through rivers of blood. Time passed, from blackest night to brightest day and back again, moving through the possibilities of sunrise and the limbo of twilight. She was aware of everything and nothing. The slightest rustle of the shadow behind her filled her ears with its emptiness while the rumbles of the earth beneath her passed by unheeded. She was alone, and with each step she felt as though she was becoming more aware of what that really meant. She was coming to realise what it was to be truly isolated, not only the last of your kind but the last of all life, everywhere, completely disconnected from everything around you. It was a chilling thought, spreading a coldness to her body that was far more prominent than the warmth of the sand.

Over time the sand's texture changed as well, no longer a welcoming tickle but a harsh rebuke. No longer a desert of golden yellow welcoming a wanderer's passage, but a hostile white, bleached by the unrelenting sun, and biting at her feet for daring to travel this route. Yet still she walked, for what else could she do? The shadow's ugliness was never far behind and she could not afford to stop. But then—

'_As my feet walk from the ashes of Katarr, I shall not fear…'_

'This is not how it was.' She stood, a lone figure in a lonely place. 'Something has changed.'

'Oh?' asked the small creature, though larger than it should have been, who had appeared beside her. 'What?'

'I do not know.' No longer concerned with the shadow, she turned to go back the way she had come, but sensed that not twenty steps from where she was stood in that direction, the ground suddenly gave way to a cliff face so deep that she could not begin to fathom where it ended. Turning on the spot, she found that the same was now true in every direction and she was trapped in the centre of nothing.

'Perhaps it is you that has changed,' commented the gizka.

She inclined her head. 'Perhaps.'

Something new. A pyramid of sand had appeared in her prison and she began to climb, drawn inexorablyforward by the same force that had caused her to walk so very far. Up and up, feeling the contours of the sand change beneath her touch, twist, transform themselves into something other than what they were. She reached the pinnacle, only to feel the whole mound buck beneath her, changing into…

'… _for in fear lies death and…'_

The heaped bodies of her race lay littered at her feet, and she was stood in the centre of the dead. The spark of life that marked sentient beings out through her Sight was entirely absent, leaving only empty husks. There was nothing, no one, nowhere, and it was endless. The shadow was approaching again. Throwing her arms into the air, she turned her face up to the sky, and welcomed the shadow into her.

Body bucking with fear, Visas Marr wanted nothing more than to escape the clutches of her dream.


	6. Part Six: Faces

**Part Six: Faces**

He had always liked fair grounds. The town he had grown up in had been small, and so the arrival of the fair once a year had been a much anticipated experience. The one he found himself in now seemed to combine all the most favourable aspects of ones which he had attended previously and for a time he was content to wander in and among the whirly gigs, merry go rounds and prize stalls until he caught a glimpse of dark hair in the crowd. It was her, he was sure of it. He was about to call out to her when she disappeared amongst the throng, and he followed, as he always did. Every now and then he thought he'd lost her but then he'd spot some part of her again – a flash of rolling curls, a twinkling eye, a compassionate smile – and the journey would continue.

Eventually, he reached one of his favourite attractions – the funhouse of mirrors – and was surprised to find a familiar figure leaning casually against the entrance.

'Atton!' he said. 'Have you seen the exile?'

The scoundrel looked up and nodded. 'Sure I have. She went in here. Didn't want anyone to follow her, though.'

He squared his shoulders. 'Nevertheless, I must find her.'

Atton shrugged. 'Fine, have it your way. Just don't get lost.'

With a grateful nod, he passed Atton. The entrance to the funhouse was lit by large orbs which gave off a milky white glow, placed atop two tall plinths. Beyond them, he could see only darkness. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the funhouse.

'Lexie?' he called out. He looked around and it seemed as though a hundred of him were looking back, each on their own private search for the Jedi who was of such great importance to him. Mirrors seemed to surround him on all sides, some long and tall, others small and squat, each containing his image – a piece of him. Moving through the corridor of his reflections, he noticed something different up ahead and moved swiftly towards it.

As he approached, it became apparent that this something different was simply his own reflection again. But it wasn't. Unlike his other mirror images, this one was dressed in a loose brown tunic and trousers, a pile of ancient looking tomes tucked under one arm, a pair of reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He stared back at himself quizzically through the glass; he had not looked this way in so long it was as though gazing at someone else.

Turning to try a new path, he found that he had become encircled in a ring of mirrors, each showing an image that was him and not him. In one, he wore the crisp white uniform of a healer, medical kit clutched in his hands; in another, he was dressed all in black, throwing furtive glances around at his other doppelgangers, a sonic recording device in one hand and a transmitter pad in the other; yet another showing him bathed in a pillar of celestial light, chest puffed out proudly, regal in his Jedi Master robes with the blue of his lightsaber blazing like a beacon in his hand; in one he lay, curled up on the ground, obviously in pain, blood gushing from his stomach and the life slowly draining from his face; he turned from that one quickly only to be confronted with the worst yet – someone who was both himself and a representation of everything he wanted to never become – a creature of darkness and hatred, with yellow, reptilian irises, hanging grey skin, dressed in robes of deepest black and clutching a flaming red lightsaber in each hand.

'No!' Unable to bear the image, he ran at it, smashing his way through the glass. It shattered, the shards then dissipating into nothing, as he found himself in yet another corridor of mirrors. Different passages forked off from his central point and he realised with a sense of despair that he had no idea how to get out of this maze.

'Are you looking for something, lad?' asked a gizka, perched on top of one of the smaller mirrors, head cocked to one side.

He nodded, still peering at the identical passages in the hopes of spotting one that was familiar. 'Yes. I am looking for my friends.'

'Oh, well I'm afraid they left the fair a while ago.' The gizka hopped off its perch over to where he stood, and tipped its top hat in way of greeting. 'I am Mr Phipps, by the way. Pleased to make your acquaintance.'

'How do you do?' he responded politely. Even in a crisis, it was always proper to show the correct level of courtesy. 'My name is…'

He trailed off, suddenly realising that he couldn't remember. He'd been so many things in his time that he could not remember which word fit anymore. He stared into the nearest mirror, lost in thought, and a hundred of him stared back. Their eyes seemed almost accusing. Sighing in frustration, he shook his head. 'I'll never find them in here.'

'My dear boy,' laughed Mr Phipps, replacing his top hat. 'Isn't that exactly why you came?'

'Will you help me find them?' he asked, choosing to ignore the gizka's last comment. It was preposterous; the only reason he'd come in here in the first place was to find Lexie. Why would he now wish to evade her and his other companions?

The gizka croaked thoughtfully, then nodded. 'Very well. Where do you propose we begin?'

He did not know. All he knew was that he wanted to get as far away from the circle of mirrors that he had been trapped in as possible, and so he picked a passage at random in the opposite direction. The two made their way through the corridor of mirrors, their reflections matching them on either side, step for step. At every intersection, he would choose another passage at random and so they continued, further and further into the maze of mirrors until Mr Phipps nudged his leg and pointed down a far path. 'I say, is that one of yours?'

A blaze of red hair that he recognised instantly. Overjoyed, he bounded down the corridor to meet her, only to be confronted by three mirror images. The centre was the one which his gizka companion had indicated, and within it stood Mira as she had appeared when he had first met her – dressed in her crop top, jacket and tight trousers, stance apparently casual but prepared to spring into action at a moment's notice, eyes glittering. To his left was another Mira, this one in her Jedi robes, stood upright, ready and alert. To his right was the third, a Mira he had never met. She was wearing little more than rags, her feet bare and bloody, face filthy and head bowed. The brand on her upper arm confirmed that she was a Mandalorian slave, but her introverted body language and fearful expression had already told him as much.

'Mira?' he asked, uncertain which one to address. 'Have – have you seen the others?'

The three Miras nodded and as one pointed down a fork to the left. He thanked her and, promising that he would return for her once he had found the rest of their party, followed the path down to another intersection, Mr Phipps hopping along beside him. The two corridors he could now go down were both cloaked in an impenetrable darkness. Tentatively, he stepped down the left, inching his way forward with hands outstretched. A banging noise seemed to be coming from further on, increasing in volume and intensity with each step he took.

'Atton? Is that you?' he called out anxiously. 'Mandalore? Visas? Hello?'

There was no response, just the banging, and then – the sound stopped abruptly as he collided with something in front of him. Before him had appeared another mirror, and within it was him again, crumbled on the ground, bruised and bloody and broken. To his left came a snarling sound and he started at the sight of himself in the black robes of a Sith once more.

'This is not the right way,' he mumbled before turning and running back the way he had come and down the right passage instead. Though this one also started off dark, with each step it seemed to become lighter and lighter, until the intensity was almost blinding. Another figure appeared in the distance and again he approached it, but this time more warily.

'I believe that this is your scoundrel friend,' commented Mr Phipps pleasantly. 'Unsurprising really – he's always been afraid of the dark.'

'Atton? But I saw him on the outside,' he replied, puzzled.

'And now you will see him on the inside.'

Again, it was not one Atton who stood waiting for him but three. The first was the one he knew best, complete with well-worn jacket and cocky grin. As with himself and Mira, another reflection depicted him as a Jedi, bathed in ethereal light, the epitome of nobility and goodness. He felt a little pang of jealousy that Atton's light seemed just that little bit brighter, his robes suited him a little bit better and his expression was a little bit more serene than his own had been. Something about that did not seem fair. Yet if the Jedi Atton had seemed lighter than himself, the Sith Atton was certainly far darker. His expression was twisted into a cruel, sadistic smile and aside from the customary lightsaber a vast array of weaponry and tools for inflicting pain hung from his belt. His eyes were yellower than a kinrath's, and they danced with a dark and deadly light. Scars criss-crossed their way across his grey, listless skin. At the sight of this dark, deranged Atton who obviously revelled in misery and pain, he let out an involuntary shudder.

Spotting this, Sith Atton laughed mockingly. 'What's the matter, kid? You afraid of me?'

'No. No, of course not. I am looking for the exile. Do you know where she is?'

'Yeah, I do,' the scoundrel version replied, tone defensive but also with a hint of smugness at knowing something he did not. 'But that doesn't mean I'm going to tell you, does it? I saw her first, remember?'

'Don't listen to them. Go and find Lexie and if you see her, tell her that I'm waiting for her,' Atton the Jedi replied, viewing him with warm, almost apologetic eyes.

Assuring Atton that he would do just that and trying to ignore the warnings of one reflection and the outright threats of the other, he travelled down yet more passages, searching for any sign of his former master. He glanced across at the little gizka who was still padding patiently along beside him. 'I did not know that this place was going to be so big.'

'Of course it's big,' replied Mr Phipps. 'How else could all those different faces be seen? You all have so many hidden ones. Ah,' he added, peering down the next passage way. 'I do believe that we are almost here, old chap.'

'Why? What happens here?'

He stepped forward into a semi-circle of darkness in which there only appeared to be one mirror. As he inched closer, a figure began to form and solidify within the mirror's surface, that of a woman he knew so very well. She smiled at him and beckoned him closer, and he came willingly.

'Betrayal,' came the gizka's voice sadly, still from the shadows behind him. 'The closest. The most unexpected.'

Before he could ask what Mr Phipps meant, the image in the mirror shifted subtly. The rosy flush to her cheeks was replaced by a pasty white and her eyes glowed menacingly. The fingers she was using to beckon to him were looking less like digits and more like talons, even as her smile transformed from warm and welcoming to cruel and sinister. Lexie stepped back, and at her feet was his own crumpled form, the same pained, dying image he had already encountered twice before, but this time it was not just fear on his face but hurt. The kind of hurt that only comes from being betrayed.

'No,' he whispered, unable to take his eyes off the contemptuous stare of the exile as she stood over his wounded body.

'To betray someone is to take everything that the two of you shared and annihilate it completely,' continued Mr Phipps quietly. 'It is to rip your bond apart, limb by limb, and then smile at the decimated corpse of your friendship. It is something that can never be truly forgiven because the scars it leaves run deeper than any physical wound and will never completely heal. A traitor is one who can do that to someone they care for, respect, even love. Creatures like myself have one face, simple as it is, but you humanoids have so very many and are always creating more. How do you know that when the time comes you will not simply adopt another?'

Before his helpless sight, the image twisted yet again and when it reformed it was no longer as it had been. Now, he saw Lexie curled up on the ground, blood seeping from a fatal wound, the look of betrayal now clear on her face, and it was he who was stood over her, weapon in hand. There was a smile on his face...

On board the Ebon Hawk, Mical – historian, healer, spy, Jedi, betrayer and betrayed – fought to escape his worst fear.


	7. Part Seven: Warriors

**Part Seven: Warriors**

'The challenge has been issued!' declared The Proclaimer as he stood before the assembled members of the clan. 'The fight to discover who truly is the rightful Mandalore is about to commence!'

The crowd roared, baying for blood and not caring whose was shed. He stood in the centre of them, soaking up the sounds, the smells, the sight. As was traditional in situations such as this, he and his challenger were encircled within a ring of fire, the clan watching from beyond the dancing flames. The fire was there for numerous reasons. The flames in many ways represented the Mandalorian people themselves – it was powerful and persistent, always growing, consuming, taking with the force of its own might. It also served to put the warrior under pressure. Knowing that only a few steps away the fire awaited them greedily, inhaling the dizzying fumes, feeling the cloying weight of its warmth even inside the already stifling full body armour. Performing in situations like this was what made one worthy of carrying the title of Mandalore.

His opponent faced him, entirely still. They were clad in ebony black armour that was clearly well crafted – it was thick and protective yet formed closely to their shape, slick as a second skin. Their features were concealed behind a helmet, polished to such a degree that he could see his own silver suit in it.

The Proclaimer barked a command in Mandalorian and the two adversaries met each other in the centre of the ring of fire, crossing their blades in a mark of mutual respect. Another command. Both warriors tensed, ready for the battle to begin. Then – the order was given.

He blocked the kick, only to find it had been a feigned attack and just narrowly avoided the vibroblade that came slicing through the air. He delivered a swift, sharp elbow into his opponent's face but they remained unfazed, meeting him with an uppercut at close range with their free hand. Letting out a snarl of rage, he raised his blade, ready to plunge it in deep but the attacker was fast. Their blades clashed, sparks flying. For a moment there they stood, locked in position. He was so close to his adversary's vibroblade that he could make out the two milky white stones sent into its hilt. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the stillness ended and his opponent jabbed forward. He parried but was driven backwards by the blow, towards the inviting flames and screams of his clan.

A series of blows, parries, hits and misses followed in a flurry of motion. The two warriors moved almost as one, silent but for their own breathing and the singing of their blades as they moved through the air. To an untrained eye, they seemed evenly matched but to the watching crowd of experts in the field of combat it was gradually becoming clearer that it was the challenger who had the upper hand. Already, their leader's movements were slower, more sluggish and his blows lacked the same force behind them. On more than one occasion he had come close to being pushed into the fiery embrace of the circle but each time had managed to fight his way back to the centre with a true warrior's spirit.

An opening – there! He took it, driving his blade upwards with enough force to send his opponent's helmet spinning across the muddy ground of the fighting ring. His laugh of triumph was cut short, as he recognised the face of the challenger.

Short blonde hair framed a heart shaped face that, despite its façade of lightness and breezy contentment, had a hard edge to it. Her eyes were keen, burning with that spark that he had seen dance in them before, when they had fought side by side. After discovering who she truly was, he'd often wondered if that same fire had been glittering in her gaze when she had watched Malachor burn and known that her orders had decimated the Mandalorian forces, maybe for ever. It was a face he had not expected to see again for a very long time.

'Revan?' he asked, barely daring to believe it possible.

'Well now, my boy,' croaked a voice reproachfully and he snuck a glance down to see an oversized gizka sat on Revan's helmet. 'Surely you saw this coming?'

Revan threw back her head and laughed. 'Of course he didn't. A blunt instrument will never appreciate the complexity of more subtle tools of destruction.'

Taking advantage of his surprise, Revan attacked with a new vigour, landing a spinning kick to his middle. He stumbled back slightly but the shock of the blow served to bring him back into the fight. He tried a left hook but she ducked out of the way. Her responding uppercut was devastating and delivered with enough force to send his own helmet flying off.

'But that – that's impossible!' he growled, knowing for a fact that his helmet was designed to never be that easy to remove in the heat of battle.

Revan laughed again. 'You honestly think that you're good enough to wear that suit of armour? To call yourself the one true Mandalore, ruler of the clans and scourge of the galaxy?'

Roaring with rage, he raised his blade high. 'I deserve it more than you do! I'll be damned before I let some little Jedi take over the clans, even if she did used to be some big-shot Dark Lord.'

With that, he flew at her once more but something had changed. The air seemed to have become thicker and his movements slowed by it almost to a crawl. In contrast, Revan was zipping around him at near impossible speed with no sign of difficulty upon her lovely features. If anything, she seemed almost bored as their blades met once again.

'Is that so?' she said mockingly, as he fought to free himself from the stalemate. 'It was I who was responsible for the death of the last Mandalore. Surely that makes me his rightful successor, not some two-bit, washed-up mercenary for hire with delusions of saving his pathetic species from their inevitable annihilation.'

A last, cruel smile and then he was on the ground, her blade at his throat. The roar of noise from the clan that he considered his yet that he no longer had any claim to was deafening.

'Finish it then. Kill me.'

In one swift motion, Revan sheathed her sword. The fire melted away and she was surrounded by those who had watched the battle, all of whom seemed to be staring at her with a reverence that he had never commanded. 'No, I won't,' she purred, crouching down beside him and whispering in his ear, 'Only a true warrior deserves to die at my hand.'

With that, she was gone and where she went the clan gladly followed. He was left to lie shamed in the mud, cries of 'All hail the mighty Mandalore!' still ringing in his ears...

In his bunk, Canderous Ordo, Mandalore, growled and thrashed in his sleep.


	8. Part Eight: Epilogue

**Part Eight: Epilogue**

Lexie Sunsoft stepped into the main gathering area of the Ebon Hawk to find all of her companions (minus the droids) already assembled there. It took only a quick look at their dishevelled appearances and shaken expressions for her to recognise this as being more than some freaky coincidence. With a sigh, she moved to the only remaining stool and plopped herself down on it. 'So I'm guessing we all had a nightmare, huh?'

'And there I was thinking I was all special,' grumbled Atton sarcastically. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, clearly unnerved and trying to hide it in the same way he always did – with humour.

'You all thinking what I'm thinking?' asked Lexie, glancing around the room.

'That this is a parting gift from Kreia? I believe so, General,' said Bao-Dur softly, and several others nodded. It had only been a few hours since the events on Dantooine followed by the confrontation with Atris on Telos, and the Hawk was already hot on the ex-Jedi's heels, headed for Malachor. The ship had been left on auto-pilot under Lexie's strict instructions that they all get a good night's sleep, so as to be well rested, ready for the battle that was sure to follow as soon as they arrived on the dead planet's surface.

'Our own personal slices of hell, courtesy of the witch herself.' Mira rolled her eyes. 'She couldn't have just left us crappy souvenirs or something?'

'Of course not,' snarled Mandalore who was, as always, clad from head to toe in his ceremonial armour. Even through its thick surface Lexie could sense he was uneasy, even rattled by the experience. 'She wanted to get inside our heads. Make us suffer. Throw our focus before the final battle. And as far as I can tell, she succeeded. Say whatever you like about her, she's a tactical genius.'

Mical shuffled anxiously in his seat. 'It was certainly a… disturbing experience, to say the least.'

'Vivid, too,' agreed Visas, stood very still to one side of the room. 'I truly believed what I was experiencing to be real.'

'She's just trying to psych us out,' Mira replied, trying to sound reassuring but seeming to have the opposite affect on Atton who stood up suddenly, rocking forward on his heels and throwing his arms wide.

'Yeah? Well, consider me psyched!'

'Atton…' Bao-Dur, ever the peace keeper, tried to calm the scoundrel but was shaken off.

'No! No, Bao-Dur, don't _Atton_ me like I'm over-reacting here. This isn't just your usual Jedi mind trick bull. This is her, crawling inside our _dreams_ for frack's sake and having herself one hell of a party! How the hell do we fight that? How the hell do we possibly face someone who is in our dreams?'

Atton's little outburst left everyone very silent. The events of that night had affected them all, exactly as Kreia had intended. Instinctively, as was always the case when something of this magnitude happened, the focus of the room shifted to Lexie, their de facto leader, as they waited to hear her take on the situation. It was to the surprise of the whole group that as they watched her a slow smile spread across the exile's face.

'Lex?' asked Mira, sounding slightly concerned. 'We all just had to experience the worst things our subconscious minds could possibly conjure for us, as well as all other kinds of ambiguous crap that I don't even want to begin trying to work out, and the person who made that happen is waiting to try and kill us on some dead planet full of uber-dark energy that we're limping our way towards. What are you smiling about?'

Lexie stood up, her smile growing to become a grin, as she surveyed her companions. 'Don't you get it? This great, all powerful Sith Master just used her astronomical powers to try and shake us off our game. You think she'd waste her abilities or her time doing something on this scale unless she saw us as a threat? She's afraid of us. She thinks that we can beat her. She thinks we can win. And do you know why she thinks that?'

Resolve glittered in her eyes and her determination radiated off her in waves. The inspirational undertone of her voice reached each of them and, in some form or another, offered comfort.

'Because we can.'

'Think about it,' she continued earnestly, looking around the group. 'We were confronted by our worst fears tonight, real deep, dark, painful stuff. And here we all are. She threw everything she had at us and we've survived it to fight another day. Even our nightmares couldn't stop us! So we're going to go to Malachor, and we're going to fight, and we are going to win.'

Her certainty was infectious, and in moments the tension was broken. A last minute revision of tactics followed, and then it was agreed that they should all go back to bed though how many of them would actually manage to get back to sleep that night was something they did not discuss. As each companion headed to their room, Lexie let out a small laugh. 'Well, at least you guys didn't all dream about that cryptic talking gizka. I don't know _where_ that came from.'

Several quizzical looks and knowing glances were exchanged amongst the group, then each retired to their bunk, having finally put their nightmares to rest.


End file.
